Chaos is a Ladder
by Sage Thrasher
Summary: And if I couldn't climb it, then I'd do my best to burn it all down. [OC-Insert]
1. Introductions, Transitions, Ambitions

**Chapter One: Introductions, Transitions, and Ambitions  
**

* * *

Petyr Baelish was a genius.

When he'd been words on a page, it was easy to forget what that meant. Yes, he made everyone's favorite characters miserable. He fucked up an entire continent, simply to feed his ambition. He was also unhealthily obsessed with a woman who'd forgotten about him—and when he'd failed to secure her love, he transferred his unwanted affections to her daughter.

But as a seven year old, Petyr had done nothing yet. He hardly resembled the creepy megalomaniac he'd become in a few decades. Besides the genius part, that was.

In fact, he was actually an adorable child. Being his sister and all, I would know.

"Alys?" Petyr asked in his squeaky, solemn voice. "Have I done this correctly?"

I leaned over, scanning the parchment covered in numbers. As I predicted, the work was flawless.

"Yes. Well done, Petyr." I smiled at him. Despite being older by a year, Petyr deferred to me. Since my new family didn't have a Maester to teach him, I took care of his schooling. This being my second life, I knew more than he did, though Petyr was gifted with far more natural intelligence. Seven year old boys should not be able to solve complicated math problems or memorize family trees after reading them once.

"At it again?" Grisel, our former nursemaid and current caretaker, bustled in. She was a kind woman, even if she had no idea how to handle abnormally smart children. "You'll lose your eyes, reading such small letters. And the candle's wearing down, too,"

Petyr looked at her with wide, apologetic eyes, and Grisel immediately relented.

"Alright, alright. Just a little longer, and off to bed."

His cheeks dimpled as he smiled at the plump woman. Petyr's ability to manipulate others was almost scary. Even now, I could see where his political acumen had come from. He was a friendly kid. Which was part of why he was still alive.

I had considered killing him before. If Petyr was dead, then Westeros would be relatively intact. So many people would find their life expectancy to have increased. But there were a few flaws to that.

First, Petyr's death meant that my future knowledge would be rendered completely useless. He was a catalyst for so many different events that removing him from the game would change everything. Knowledge was power, and in this craptastic world, I needed all the power I could get.

Also, Petyr hadn't done any stupid shit yet. He was innocent. Now that I existed in this universe, perhaps I could keep him from doing the really stupid shit. Well, if I survived past my tenth birthday.

Finally, Petyr was genuinely likeable, eager to please and clever to a fault. I'd started to think of him as my little brother, not just a character in a book. Maybe I was stupid for getting attached. But I didn't have much to lose.

I had died once before. I didn't worry about dying again.

* * *

My new father wasn't impressive. Jonos Baelish had no outstanding qualities, being neither smart, charming, nor handsome. Add to that his fading martial prowess, and he was basically worthless in Westeros. Jonos might have been a lord, but he wasn't a good one. That wasn't entirely his fault, though. House Baelish's holdings consisted of one feeble tower, a few acres of rocks, and a swamp "village." It was the work of a miracle that Petyr had risen as far as he had.

Or the work of a bored, vaguely guilty lord. In other words, Hoster Tully—who still wrote to his old, wartime friend. The monthly letters consisted of perfunctory greetings and platitudes, but they always caused Jonos to puff up with pride. This month's correspondence, however, was special. This time, the letter contained an offer to foster Jonos' children at Riverrun.

Children. Plural.

Well. I certainly welcomed a change of pace. The dreary tower offered little entertainment. Of course, Petyr was excited beyond measure. He'd only heard stories about the outside, and a mind like his was always craving for something new.

Thus, with no ceremony, Petyr and I were sent off to Riverrun.

* * *

In the light of the sunrise, the three-sided castle looked pink. Also, it was in the middle of a fucking river, which I did not appreciate after days of rough travel. Petyr, on the other hand, looked about ready to fall to his knees and start worshiping the place.

I nudged him with his elbow, startling him out of his awe.

"It's just a castle," I huffed. "Stop acting like a fool."

Petyr turned away from Riverrun, incredulous and annoyed. "Just a castle? This is the seat of a Lord Paramount! We're at the greatest keep in the Riverlands!"

In my humble opinion, skyscrapers were much better than castles. While Riverrun was the nicest thing I'd seen in Westeros, it was also… alright, the travel had made me cranky. Riverrun was actually gorgeous. But I was in no position to appreciate the architecture. My opinion would improve once I'd had a long, hot bath.

"Maybe you're right." I clasped Petyr on the shoulder. There was no need to rain on his parade… yet. "It's good enough. And it's our new home, too."

"Yes," he breathed."Our new home."

* * *

Hoster Tully had a kick-ass beard. Long, red, and luxurious, it put all the other facial hair in Riverrun to shame. His brother Brynden had a less impressive beard, but he made up for it with his eyebrows. They both (the brothers, not the eyebrows) welcomed us kindly. Thankfully, their welcome didn't last long. We were soon sent to our new quarters, and as I suspected, my opinion of Riverrun did improve after a bath.

Then we met the Tully children.

Catelyn was pretty and poised for a preteen. She did everything properly, and the way she tried to play hostess was rather cute. Lysa was a slender and starry-eyed girl who clearly idolized her sister. Edmure, well, was kind of a brat. A good-hearted brat, but a brat nonetheless. To my surprise, Petyr seemed excited to meet the other children, but he payed no particular attention to Catelyn. Since he'd grown up with another girl, maybe he wouldn't become infatuated with the first attractive woman who smiled at him. Hey, I could dream.

Which reminded me of my number one goal: prevent that fucked-up love triangle from happening. And if that failed, I had to prevent Petyr from _doing_ fucked-up shit because of that love triangle. He'd be far more effective if he didn't pine over a woman who had no romantic feelings for him. My secondary goals included ingratiating myself into the Tully family. Petyr and I had no power at the moment. We were entirely dependent on Hoster Tully's whims. So I had to make his kids like me, and preferrably find some other source of security.

That way, if I failed miserably and Petyr ended up challenging Brandon to a duel, at least we wouldn't be kicked out of Riverrun. Or if we were kicked out, we wouldn't be completely helpless.

* * *

Petyr was off with Edmure, learning useful stuff, while I was stuck doing embroidery with the girls. Now, my embroidery skills weren't Picasso-level, but I was pretty good for a kid.

"Excellent work, Catelyn!" praised Septa Celia. Of course, the septa blatantly favored the Tully sisters—more specifically, the older one. Which was to be expected. I was barely nobility, and my father wasn't the one who employed her.

Catelyn blushed with pride. "Thank you, Septa."

"Did I do well, Septa Celia?" asked Lysa, holding her cloth up. The handkerchief she worked on had the same pattern as Catelyn's: a delicate silver trout with a red river as the border. Unfortunately, Lysa's trout wasn't delicate, and the rivers looked more like roads.

"Your stitches are far too uneven." The septa sniffed, making her upturned nose flare. "You may want to attempt a simpler pattern."

Lysa visibly deflated, shoulders drooping as she stared at her work. Catelyn frowned and turned to me.

"What are you making, Alys?"

I showed her my half-finished design.

"A mockingbird. It's for Petyr."

"A mockingbird?" piped up Lysa, sufficiently distracted. "I thought your sigil was the Titan of Braavos."

I shrugged. "It is, but I thought he'd like this better." If I remembered correctly, Petyr had changed his sigil to a mockingbird. I didn't blame him. The Titan head was damn ugly.

"Mockingbirds are pretty," Lysa agreed.

I smiled. "Good singers, too. Even if they do copy others' songs." And lay eggs in other birds' nests. Really, it was a fitting symbol for both of us.

After a moment of contemplation, I started embroidering a second bird next to the first.

* * *

Our roles had switched somewhat. While I still taught Petyr the knowledge from my old world, it was his turn to teach me. After his lessons with the Maester, he would join me in the library and tell me what he'd learned. Petyr really was a good brother. He'd just finished telling me about Daeron I Targaryen's rule and the conquest of Dorne. Now, we were sitting in comfortable silence, reading our respective books. Though I'd been doing my best to brush up on my Westerosi history since coming to Riverrun, there were still plenty of gaps in my knowledge.

"I wonder what the current Targaryens are like."

Startled, I looked up. "What?"

Petyr tapped his finger against the page of his book. "If the Tullys have a home this nice, imagine how the Red Keep must be."

I laughed. "Trust me, Petyr. You don't want to become involved with those dragons."

That inbred, insane, and inept family may not have deserved their especially brutal end, but they sure as hell didn't deserve to be anywhere near the throne. In many ways, the exemplified everything wrong with feudalism. Aerys hadn't yet degenerated into the murderous madman he'd be known as, but the Seven Realms were still rumbling in discontent. It hadn't helped that the relationship between Aerys and Tywin had become strained recently.

"Why not?" He tilted his head. "They're the most powerful."

I lowered my voice, though there was no one in the library besides us two. "Because I have a feeling that they aren't going to last for much longer. Besides, our goal shouldn't be to emulate the nobility, but to destroy them."

"Why is that?" Petyr's voice showed only curiosity. He, of course, didn't know anything about what would happen. Maybe one day I'd tell him what I knew. But for now, I'd stick with vague hints.

"Because they're the problem. Braavos has no kings or queens, and thought they're just a city, they're richer than any one of the Realms." I smiled. "It's a matter of potential. In Braavos, even a former slave can become the head of the Iron Bank. But in Westeros, no one but the nobility has power. And among them, that power is reserved to a certain few nobles."

"Nobles that aren't us," he said slowly.

I nodded, proud that he had picked up my train of thought. "Though that isn't going to stop us, is it?"

"Of course not." Petyr waved his hand, gesturing for me to proceed. I hadn't used my influence to reduce his ambition. Instead, I'd done my best to temper it with knowledge.

"Anyway, we're the exception. We're in a position to change our fortunes, but others are not so lucky. There may be a fisherman who would make a better ruler than any man in line for the throne. Thanks to this corrupt system, he would never get the chance to rule. In the end, everyone suffers." My old world wasn't perfect, but it sure as hell was better than this one.

"Careful, sister." Petyr's eyes widened, though it was more mocking than truly shocked. "Your words are approaching treason. And besides the excuse of altruism and hypothetical benefits, what do we gain from your venture?"

"Is it not humanity's goal, its obligation, to improve society's condition?" I spread my hands apart. "What more reason do we need to make things right?"

He rolled his eyes, a mannerism he'd picked up from me. "As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist," he quoted at me. "For isn't morality the herd-instinct of the individual?"

I sighed. "I should have never told you about Nietzsche."

Petyr smiled. "But you did."

"I also told you about Adam Smith, didn't I?" I retorted. "No society can flourish when the greater part of it is poor and miserable. And don't tell me that you overlooked the power vacuum."

It was his turn to laugh. "Yes, yes, I remember, and I do understand the implications of your goals. We'd be positioned well, I assume. But what are your plans to get there?"

"There are two ways to bring down the nobility. It could happen gradually, through economic prosperity and careful reform. Or it could happen all at once, though war."

"Or both," added Petyr. "But I have a feeling that more of the second would be better for us."

"And I have a feeling that war is in the air."

He made a sound of understanding. "The same one that will lead to the dragons' downfall?"

"Perhaps. If we play our cards right…" I trailed off.

"Then we might end up closer to the top," he finished, satisfied.

I was being facetious about my motivations, of course. Societal change that happened through sudden and violent war was almost never permanent. Take the French revolution, for example. Sure, a large contingent of nobles died, but Napoleon and his lackeys filled the power vacuum that resulted. And it was basically impossible to transition from a feudalistic society to an egalitarian one. It would be nice, yes, but it was a pipe dream.

However, I could change it a little bit. More importantly, I could change it so that Petyr and I would be near the top. The Realms would be thrown into chaos, with or without us. Taking advantage of it was the best option. The ladder couldn't climb itself, after all.

Hopefully, we wouldn't end up ruling ashes. But if we were... well, we could always change our sigil to that of a phoenix.

* * *

 **AN:** This is a self-indulgent, hesitant foray into one of my favorite fandoms. The chapter is a bit short for me; I prefer my chapters to be closer to five-thousand words. I'm mostly testing the waters here. But that's besides the point. The next chapter will contain the duo's interactions with the Tully family, among other things.I appreciate all feedback. Thanks for reading.


	2. Implications, Integration, Explanations

**Chapter Two: Implications, Integration, Explanations**

* * *

Somehow, I ended up being the mother hen of the lot.

The three Tully children had lost their mother when they were young, and I found myself taking on some of those responsibilities. I'd basically done the same for Petyr, so it wasn't too much additional trouble. However, I had to walk the fine line between looking out for them and deferring to them, being a child of lower status. It generally consisted of polite suggestions and reassurances.

"No, Catelyn, you don't look ugly in that dress. You're a very pretty girl."

"No, Lysa, Septa Celia is wrong. You aren't less intelligent than your sister."

"No, Edmure, don't climb that damn tree! You'll break your neck!"

Alright, with Edmure it was a little more difficult. He was used to being the heir of Riverrun and getting his way, and listening to the suggestions of a barely-noble girl wasn't something he was willing to do.

No matter. I eventually found a way.

* * *

Our favorite place in Riverrun was the tiny library tower next to the Wheel Tower. When I wasn't spending time with the girls or making nice with the servants, I was filling the gaps in my knowledge. Petyr often did the same. We spent many evenings curled up in chairs, squinting at the spindly writing in enormous tomes.

So when Petyr stormed in, jaw clenched and fists balled, I was surprised. I'd never seen Petyr so angry. And considering that we'd been stuck in a tower together for the first eight years of our lives, that was saying something.

"What is it?" I asked, immediately putting away my book.

"Edmure," he snarled. "I'm going to kill him."

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Now, his anger was simmering beneath the surface—no less potent, just less visible.

"Petyr, what do you mean?" Now, I was really concerned. It wasn't every day that your genius, future megalomaniac brother runs into a library, threatening to murder the heir to Riverrun. While an average preteen might threaten to kill people once in awhile, I had no doubt that Petyr had the capability to go through with it.

His voice was colder than the North. "I'm going to kill him one day. No. I'm going to tear apart his home, make his life miserable, and then stand over him as he slowly bleeds to death."

"What did he do?" I asked, curious.

"Edmure was with his stupid lackey, Marq Piper. They were sparring—without me, of course, since I'm not good enough—and Marq asked why I was here. Since I'm just a jumped-up _peasant!"_

I listened with a raised eyebrow. Petyr hated sparring. Though I supposed it was the principle of the matter. However, while the insult about our status was hurtful, it was nothing new. it wasn't enough to make him this angry.

"And then," continued Petyr, a scowl deepening on his face, "Edmure made fun of our estate… and called me Littlefinger. Littlefinger!" He hissed the last word.

I stared the table, doing my very best not to laugh. As smart as Petyr may be, he was still a kid. And kids hated nicknames. Though Petyr eventually learned this lesson on his own, there was nothing wrong with giving him a head start.

"Petyr, I understand why you're angry." I stood and walked to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. "But your anger is just what they want. Don't let them see it. If they're giving you a name, make it your own. Use it. And then they can't hurt you anymore."

"They called you 'Littlefinger', too," he said bitterly. "Lady Littlefinger. Now is it so easy to ignore?"

"Yes."

Petyr blinked at me, taken aback.

"It's a compliment, Petyr. And a reminder." I smiled. "We _are_ from a poor family. We're hardly nobility. We own a patch of rocks on the smallest Finger. But we're going to rise much higher than all of them. Imagine how sweet it will be, years later, when they bow down and call us _Littlefinger._ "

He hesitated.

"Besides, Edmure is worth far more to us alive. Becoming close with a future Lord Paramount is worth a couple of insults."

Petyr shrugged off my hand. "Edmure this, Catelyn that, Lysa there," he snarled. "Is that you ever think about? They're worth nothing!"

Then I realized. "Brother, that's not what I meant." I kept my face blank, though I was tempted to smile at his adorable pout. "You're worth far more to me then they could ever be. You're smarter and harder working, and I care for you more than anyone. But Lysa and Catelyn will be the future wives of Lord Paramounts, and Edmure will lead an entire realm. We need their influence. We need to influence them. You know what that means. Without power—"

"We can do nothing." Petyr looked away, guilt coloring his expression. "I didn't really mean it," he mumbled. "Catelyn and Lysa are really nice, and Edmure is alright… sometimes."

"I know." I gave him a quick hug. "It's hard. But it will be worth it."

* * *

The gardens were lush and carefully managed. From what I heard, it wasn't as beautiful as the roses of Highgarden, but it was an excellent place to read a book. Even if that book was a dry treatise on bookmaking. In order to decide what to invest in, I had to know where Westeros was technologically. It was boring work, yes, but necessary.

"Alys!" yelled a brash, familiar voice. "Petyr said that you'd write about the Dance of the Dragons for me!"

I set my book aside and plastered a smile for Edmure. "Oh?" I said, inwardly cursing my brother. He just had to send the brat to me.

"Yes." Edmure crossed his arms and looked at me, confident and carefree. "Maester Kym wants me to do it, but it's dull and I don't want to. I asked Petyr to, but he said that you were better."

"Well," I said slowly, an idea forming in my head, "do you know about the Dance of the Dragons?"

"I don't need to. You'll do it for me."

I continued to smile. "If I simply do it for you, then you won't be able to answer any questions that Maester Kym asks you. How about I tell you, first?"

Edmure frowned. "Oh. Alright. But make it quick." He sat down in the chair opposite to me and crossed his legs. "Well? Tell me!"

I gathered my thoughts. "It started with the most beautiful woman in the world," I began. "A woman by the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen. And she was a woman who was determined to be queen…"

As I wove the threads of the story, Edmure began to fidget less and less. Soon, he became enthralled by the bloody and twisted events that made up the civil war.

"Edmure? Alys?" asked Catelyn, daintily picking her way through the garden. Lysa followed her like a little shadow. "What are you—"

"Be quiet, Cat!" Edmure snapped back. "I'm trying to listen!"

Mildly affronted, Catelyn seated herself with a harrumph, and Lysa imitated her. I smiled at them and summarized the events of the war so that they'd understand.

"Hurry up!" whined Edmure.

"Yes, I'll continue." I paused. "Lucerys, the second son of Rhaenyra, rode on the back of his dragon Arrax as a messenger. But as he flew through the terrible storm, he saw what any man would fear the most—another dragon."

The girls gasped. "And then?" asked Lysa, leaning forward.

I continued the tale, detailing the bloody fight and eventual fall of Lucerys. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Petyr approach, taking his seat silently beside me. He'd heard this before; in fact, he'd been the one to tell me about the Dance in the first place. I gave him a wry smile, and Petyr nodded back.

I spoke until my voice became hoarse. About how the Blacks swore revenge, how the bastard dragonseeds had tamed wild dragons, and how Jacaerys had died. "Prince Aegon clung to the back of his dragon Stormcloud…" My voice cracked. "His dragon Stormcloud..."

"But Stormcloud was mortally wounded in his escape," finished Petyr for me. He quietly told of the Battle of the Gullet, and none of the Tullys protested the change in speaker. "I think that's enough for now."

Petyr offered me a hand, which I gladly took. Edmure grumbled loudly, and both Catelyn and Lysa looked disappointed, but they followed after us with little complaint. I grinned at Petyr, and his answering smile told me that he'd figured it out. For Edmure, the offer of completing his work and telling a story would be enough to get on his good side.

Looking back, if I had to pick one turning point in my relationship with the Tully kids, that would be it. We'd proven ourselves useful to them, and it began to show. Petyr and I went from being occasional playmates to trusted companions. (Of course, the process was more gradual, but the development of preteen friendships is quite boring. Trust me.)

Catelyn and Lysa invited me to use their hairdresser, absolving me of the need to brush my own hair everyday. Edmure would bring Petyr to his spars, even though Petyr was absolutely horrible at them. Or anything involving physical exercise, really. And all three of the Tullys would come to us for advice.

The growing relationship between us Baelish siblings and the Tully children was soon noticed by Lord Hoster Tully himself. Thankfully, that came with some much-needed perks.

* * *

As I'd mentioned before, House Baelish was dirt poor. Petyr and I had come to Riverrun with nothing but a bundle of everything we'd owned. Among our belongings were only three sets of clothing. Quietly, Hoster Tully began slipping us a monthly stipend for clothing and other supplies. I only used half of it for actual dresses. The rest, I saved… or invested. In various ways.

The girls and I would head to town to buy new clothes every month. (It coincided with the day I received the stipend, of course.) And while we were in town, I took the opportunity to meet up with my contacts.

"Milady, milady!" panted Lia Rivers. She was rumored to be a bastard of either Lord Vance or Lord Ryger, depending on who was asked. Her hands clutched her tattered skirts as she tried to catch her breath. "I foun' what ye asked. Parchmen' costs three whole silvers. But ah asked Edwyn, the woodcarver—he has a mistress, ye know, though his wife don't know—an' he said that he use four whole barrels for his wood scraps! An' he just burn 'em!"

"Thank you, Lia." I tossed her a penny. "Go ask Edwyn if he'd give those barrels away. And keep an ear out, will you? There's always more coppers waiting."

She rubbed the coin, greed glinting in her eyes. "Yes, milady." Lia bobbed in a poor imitation of a curtsy before scurrying away.

The girl was an invaluable source, and one of the three I could actually pay, the others being a stable boy and a maid in Riverrun. I made sure to have more contacts than just them, of course. In some cases, all it took was a smile and a kind word. In others, it took a whisper of an affair, or the identity of a thief. Or the blackmailing of a thief. It was slow going, but Petyr and I were building up an effective network.

Lysa had been distracted by a display of silk ribbons, but Catelyn had watched the entire conversation, even though she couldn't have heard anything over the din of the crowd. She glided over to my side, a squire trudging behind her.

"Why are you associating with _those_ kinds of people?" She sniffed, a sneer forming on her pretty face. "Smallfolk." The very word sounded like a curse.

"I'm not much better," I said mildly.

Catelyn flushed. One of her handmaidens had said that very thing about me a few days ago. Caelyn hadn't said anything to defend me, though she had apologized afterwards.

"T-That's not the same," protested Catelyn. "You're nobility, no matter how small—" She cut herself off, turning an even deeper red. "Besides, that girl is a bastard. She's a stain on the gods'."

"Catelyn, she didn't choose to be born as a bastard. That sin is her parents'." I smiled at the lady-to-be. "Nor did she choose to be born a smallfolk. There _is_ no need to associate ourselves with them… but courtesy and kind words do not cost anything, either. You never know when you might need someone's help."

It was impossible to undo years of social conditioning with a few words, but I could at least try to pound some common sense into Catelyn. Maybe if I kept repeating it over and over again, she'd remember. Probably not, but it was worth a shot.

Lysa had finished purchasing her new ribbons, and she'd wandered over in time to hear the end of the conversation.

"Oh!" Lysa said, clasping the pink ribbons to her chest. "It's like what you said, Alys. Not everyone is a player, but every piece makes a difference in cyvasse."

I blinked. "Why, yes. I did say that." I gave her a contemplative look. I knew that Lysa enjoyed the attention I gave her, but I hadn't expected her to actually listen to my advice.

Catelyn bit her lip. Indecision warred across her face for a brief moment.

"Let us return to Riverrun," she announced.

As expected, Catelyn avoided the problem. Moral dilemmas and thinking things through really wasn't her style, huh?

Maybe it was for the best. I didn't want to change too many things. It'd be a shame if all my future knowledge lost its worth.

* * *

A thick layer of dust covered every unread tome in the library tower. I opened a particularly heavy one and blew off the grime that collected on the edges. Petyr sneezed beside me, wrinkling his nose.

"Bless you."

"Thanks," he said dryly, rubbing his face. Petyr froze. "No one else says that."

"No one else says what?" I bent down closer to the page, puzzling out the faded old Valyrian. We'd taught ourselves the two other (important) languages spoken in this planet, though Petyr had received help from Maester Kym.

"Bless you. No one else says that when I sneeze." He stared at me. "There's no such person as Nietzsche, either. I've looked. Neither is there an Adam Smith, Malthus, Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, or the countless other people you've mentioned. And the stories you've told me. They aren't in any book I've read."

"And?" I tilted my head.

Petyr continued, fluent and calm. "I never realized this until coming to Riverrun, but you shouldn't know what you do. Sister, your knowledge of numbers, statecraft, and people isn't ordinary. How did you learn this?" A pause. "Who are you?"

I closed the book. "You've practiced this, haven't you?"

He looked down. "I've been meaning to ask you about this. I haven't had the chance."

I'd prepared for this moment. Anyone with a modicum of brains—and Petyr had a lot—would

figure out that something was off.

"Alright. I'll tell you. You're old enough." I paused. "In Yi Ti, what do they believe happens after death?"

Petyr was used to my non-sequiturs, but he still frowned with annoyance.

"They believe in reincarnation. They think that the soul is purified and sent into another body after death…" He looked at me, wide-eyed. "But in that book you gave me—you gave me that book.

You knew that—" He cut himself off and blinked rapidly. "I thought that memories didn't survive purification?"

"Perhaps there was a mistake."

Petyr's eyebrows scrunched together.

"Even, even assuming that your memories survived death," he swallowed, straining with the effort of holding back all his questions, "that still doesn't explain how you know what you do. Were you a noble in your past life?" Petyr seemed a bit disconcerted by the thought. "A Targaryen, maybe?"

I shook my head. "The gods must have been drunk when I died. This was their second mistake. I'm not from the past."

He opened and closed his mouth.

"You're from… you're from the future?" His voice squeaked on the last word.

"Yes."

"But, but..." Petyr struggled for a moment. "How old are you, really?" he said finally.

"Around three decades, including the years I've lived in this life." I leaned back. "Go ahead. Ask all the questions—"

The door opened, and we both flinched. At the sight of Brynden Tully, the infamous Blackfish, we immediately stood. I fell into a perfect curtsy, for once thanking Septa Celia's endless drilling. Petyr's bow wasn't as graceful, but it was proper and neat.

He nodded to us, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I heard that you two would be in here." Brynden Tully scanned the room, unimpressed. "It seems a bit dusty."

"It is." Petyr grinned. "Whenever I take out a new book, I sneeze at least thrice."

I giggled, my heart pounding in my throat. The walls of the tower were thick, but the doors weren't sealed. He could have overheard our conversation. Stupid, stupid! I should have taken more precautions. Just because no one but us had come here before, that didn't mean that no one would come at all.

He chuckled with me. "I can tell." Brynden cleared his throat. "I promised the girls that they could come with me to the river. Would you two like to accompany us?"

Out of all the Tullys, I liked Brynden the best. He was always kind and patient, willing to listen to every child, us included. Hell, he had hunted Petyr and me down, just to invite us. At the moment, however, I was more concerned with how much he had heard.

Brynden wasn't acting any different. Well, he wasn't screaming about the Seven, threatening to burn me alive (wait, wrong religion)—nor was he smiling sympathetically, suggesting that I join the Silent Sisters in order to cure my addled brain. Both were good signs.

"We would love to," said Petyr. "Thank you, my lord."

"Yes, we would!" I added. I relaxed slightly. From the looks of it, my secret was safe. Still, his interruption served as a potent reminder; carelessness was inexcusable in this world. Especially when you wanted to bring down feudalism.

However, Petyr and I weren't lying. Both of us were looking forward to seeing the Trident in its glory. I was more of a mountain girl than a river one, but even I had to admit that knights hunting fish with spears was awesome.

I was also incredibly interested in seeing how the waterwheel worked. Electricity was still centuries away, but waterwheels could do more than open and close gates, which was all Riverrun used its one for.

I risked a glance at the Blackfish. He was looking at Petyr with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Then, he noticed my gaze. His expression became cheerful as he beckoned towards the door.

"We best get going, then. I promised my brother that I'd bring everyone back before sundown."

Brynden was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for. But for my sake and Petyr's, I hoped he wasn't too much more perceptive.

Calling the consequences dire would be an understatement. I could be thought of as insane and lose all credibility, thrown into prison to rot, killed for being blasphemous, killed for being crazy, killed for my knowledge, and so on. Even worse, Petyr would be left alone, and he'd probably go crazy after losing his sister _and_ being friendzoned by Catelyn.

And while I wasn't afraid of death, I did fear for the fate of the world if that happened.

* * *

 **AN:** Still a rather short chapter, but I think I'll keep the chapters for this story around this length. The next chapter should skip forward a bit. Coming up: puberty, the North, and scheming. Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone. I really appreciate it.


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